Caring is a disadvantage
by April Edgar
Summary: He was obviously untrained. Not an assassin or a mastermind criminal, so why could Sherlock not stop him? He should have seen it coming. He was nothing more than a thug and was no match for Sherlock's brilliant mind, but now his world has collapsed, he has been beaten. For once in his life Sherlock Holmes agrees with something his brother said, caring is a disadvantage.
1. Chapter 1

He was obviously untrained. Not an assassin or a mastermind criminal, so why could Sherlock not stop him? He should have seen it coming. He was nothing more than a thug and was no match for Sherlock's brilliant mind, but now his world has collapsed, he has been beaten. For once in his life Sherlock Holmes agrees with something his brother said, caring is a disadvantage.

**5 hours earlier**

"Sherlock! What have you done to the kitchen?" John looked in at the kitchen that now looked like a tsunami, earthquake and hurricane had passed through there all at the same time. There had been no case for three days and Sherlock had reached a whole new level of boredom. John tried to stay out of his way as much as possible. He looked into a pan that was still bubbling on the hob. It smelt disgusting and John had to pinch his nose as he leaned over to look into the pan. Inside was one of Sherlock's many experiments, however instead of eyeballs in the microwave or drugging Johns tea this seemed to involve boiling a brain until it had completely stuck to the bottom of the pan. John stormed out of the kitchen, to where Sherlock was lounged on the sofa, with the pan still in his hands. "Sherlock!" The younger man didn't even move. "Sherlock! What is this?" Sherlock turned around so that he faced John and raised his eyebrow slightly. "Sherlock! What have you done? I use this pan for cooking!"

"As an answer to your first question, that is clearly a brain, even you should be able to see that."

"I know what it is! I want to know why it is stuck to the bottom of one of my pans!" He was starting to lose patience now.

"It was an experiment."

John sighed and stared at Sherlock until he was sure that he saw the man squirm.

"I boiled the brain in pyrosulphuric acid." He rolled over so that his head was buried beneath the cushions, telling John that this conversation was over.

An hour later, after cleaning up the mess that Sherlock had made, John felt that he could maybe relax for just a moment. He didn't know how it was possible for one man to make so much mess, well that man is Sherlock Holmes off all people. Sitting in his chair he heard Sherlock mutter something about 'brain cells disintegrating', he couldn't help but smile. As much as Sherlock annoyed him he couldn't help but care for the man.

That thought soon disappeared when Sherlock suddenly jumped off the sofa, texting someone, most likely Lestrade, and heaved John of the chair.

"John! Get up! We have a case!"

John reluctantly moved from his quite comfy position in the chair and ran to catch up with Sherlock, who was already hailing one of the many cabs that seem to magically appear when Sherlock is around.

Fidgeting in the back of the cab, it was obvious that Sherlock was feeling the adrenaline of finally having a case.

"So what's happened"

Sherlock's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Murder"

_**This is my first story so it's not the best. Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

John was left to pay for the cab, again, when Sherlock gracefully got out and strolled straight to the scene before him.

"Male, aged 42, no form of identification has been found but DNA checks are running at the moment, has been dead around 6 hours before some kids found him." Lestrade rattled off all of what they knew even though he knew Sherlock wouldn't even be listening.

The first thing Sherlock noticed was how the corpse resembled John. He had the blond, short hair that gave John his military look and he was also quite short in height (5ft 6inch to be exact). He was laid down in a dark alley in the middle of Soho. Crimes in this area weren't uncommon but this was different. The corpse looked a lot like John. It could be a coincidence but the universe is rarely so lazy, therefore someone was trying to get to him.

He continued to deduce what he could from the scene. There was a slit across the victims throat. It was messy and was obviously done by an amateur. However there wasn't much blood so the body must have been killed somewhere else and then moved there. The body was in a position that was too precise. Laid on his back with his legs straight and his arms beside him. The bruises on the mans arms told Sherlock that there had been a struggle before the man was killed. The way his clothing was ripped down his arm was because the killer had been struggling to hold the man down.

Sherlock made a dramatic turn to face Lestrade, his coat swirling round with him. He washed his face of all emotion and appeared to be bored.

"The level of intelligence here amazes me, inspector."

John nudged Sherlock and gave him what Sherlock often thought of as 'the death glare'. Sherlock sighed and started to speak.

"The body wasn't killed here as there isn't enough blood surrounding the body. The killer is clearly and amateur, probably a teenager. There are signs of a struggle and how the killer was weak and barely able to pin the victim down. Boring!" He started to walk away just as Lestrade pulled John aside.

"I don't know how you cope with him." He said shaking his head, in an exasperated way.

"Neither do I to be honest!" They both chuckled together and earned a few odd looks from Lestrades team.

"Your good for him, I think. You seem to make him more...human."

John found Sherlock having another argument with Anderson and Donovan. If John has learnt one thing about Sherlock whilst living with him, it's that no matter how much he hides it, he does have feelings and every time someone calls him a freak John can see his mask slip slightly. He knows Sherlock better than anyone and knows he's not a sociopath, no matter what he says.

When he finally comes out of his trail of thoughts he looks up to find Sherlock strolling towards him and he sees the tiniest hint of hurt in his eyes before he covers it up with the look of boredom.

"You ok? What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yep" Sherlock popped the 'p' in a way that reminds John of a petulant child.

As soon as they are back at the flat Sherlock throws himself onto the sofa and steeples his fingers under his chin in his typical thinking pose.

He knew that the killer was just an ordinary thug, he was weak and amateur but Sherlock couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Sentiment?

_**I can't believe how long it took me to write that! Please review!**_


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock! Time to get some air!"

"Fine. Ok you go."

John sighed, "No. Your coming with me."

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at John. "You go. I need to think" He waved his hand towards the door and closed his eyes again.

John, who was used to the detective's childish behaviour, grabbed Sherlock's coat and scarf and threw them at him. They landed on top of his head.

Sherlock took them off his head and look at John in shock. His hair was ruffled and the look he was giving John made him want to laugh so much. Why did a genius, insist on being so childish?

"John! I need to think!" He crossed his arms and pursed his lips giving him the look of a petulant child again.

"Sherlock! You are coming outside! We are going to go for a walk and get some fresh air! You need it!" As he said this he dragged the consulting detective, who was actually a lot heavier than he looked, off the sofa.

Sighing, Sherlock put his coat and scarf on. John could be so demanding sometimes! He needed to think. As much as he didn't show it, the latest case was really bothering him. What is going to happen? Who is it wanting to destroy him this time? And most importantly, is John safe?

They ended up heading to Regents Park and they had been walking for nearly 5 minutes and Sherlock was already complaining.

"John! Can we get a cab?"

"No! Sherlock! It's not far! Surely with legs as long as yours you will manage!"

"John! I need to go to Scotland Yard!"

"No you don't!"

"But Lestrade and the idiots he calls his team will probably need my help!"

"I'm sure they can manage without you for a while!"

"I'm bored!"

"Sherlock, can you just shut up and walk! Please! Or believe me you won't be solving any cases for a very long time!"

At that, Sherlock sighed dramatically and was quiet all the way to the park. John decided that he would never have kids.

The park was quiet and John was really enjoying the sun in his face. He lifted his head up towards the heat and was loving it until Sherlock decided to open his mouth again.

"John, do you realise that you have a spot right on your chin? When you lift up your head like that it is exposed for everyone to see."

"No I didn't know that and thank you so much for letting me know." John said sarcastically.

"Your welcome" Sherlock had a fake smile on his face and he fluttered his eyelids slightly to imitate an innocent child. John, by this point, was fighting the urge to punch him.

**Half an hour later **

They were still in the park and Sherlock felt like his brain was dying, one cell at a time. He didn't understand why people wasted there life away by doing things like this. John was currently talking to a woman and attempting to be charming. It was embarrassing! The woman was short with long brunette hair and blue eyes and she was very pedestrian. Sherlock couldn't stand to stay there any longer so wandered further into the park. That's when he sees him.

The teenager, he deduces about 16 years old. The clothes that he's wearing are old and tattered. The hoodie is full of holes and the trousers are a dark brown but they were obviously once green. He grins at Sherlock. A menacing grin and Sherlock immediately realises that he has found the killer.

Not wasting anytime Sherlock sweeps over the short distance between them so he is face to face with the thug.

"Don't ya recognise me Mr 'olmes? Don't ya remember me?"

Sherlock looks blankly at him, searching for anything that could tell him who this thug was.

"Does Philip Bulmer ring any bells?"

Sherlock remembered that case well. Philip Bulmer took young girls off the street, they were all if the age of eighteen, the first year of adult-hood, and he would rape them and leave them to bleed to death. He killed 17 people before Sherlock managed to catch him. He got beaten to death in prison two years ago.

"I see ya remember. That were ma dad you locked up in there and he got killed 'cause of you"

Sherlock looked down at the teenager and shook his head.

"No. He didn't die because of me. He died because he was a psychopath and it looks like you have taken the same path."

The thug was furious. He went to punch Sherlock, but he saw it coming and dodged the blow. Sherlock landed a punch in the boys abdomen and he doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Ya nothin' but a lonely freak. Sherlock 'olmes!" The thug gasped out.

Before Sherlock could respond the boy kicked out his leg, aiming for Sherlock's stomach but instead hitting his legs, making him fall to the ground. Finding his chance the thug ran but Sherlock was soon back on his feet and pursuing the killer.

John, who had just finished talking to the woman in the park, looked round and just caught sight of Sherlock's long coat disappear round a corner. Without even thinking about it he ran after him.

_**Well that chapter was a bit longer than the others. Thanks for reading! Remember to review! **_


	4. Chapter 4

I **_just want to say thank you to Carella (you know who you are!) for giving me the prompt for this story! Also thank you Corianna15 for your reviews and comments! It has really helped! Just to make something clear: The thug/killer is the son of Philip Bulmer who is mentioned in the last chapter. Sherlock caught him and he died in prison. Just incase anyone one was confused, cough Carella cough. _**

**The Thug's/killer's POV**

He was angry! He would get Sherlock Holmes one way or another. For his father. It was Sherlock's fault that he died. At the moment though, all he could think to do was run. Weaving in and out of the dark alleys and streets he tried desperately to stay ahead of the so called consulting detective.

He could feel the detective hot in his heals. He had never been one for running but he was still pretty fast but it was becoming obvious that he was tiring and the detective wasn't.

**Sherlock's POV**

He would catch him soon. He could tell that the killer was tiring. Sherlock, full of adrenaline, ran as fast as he could, expertly weaving round the corners of London. He could tell that the killer was angry and he knew that he could be in potential danger, as the boy could be capable of anything in this state. Sherlock also knew that the boy had a brain of a goldfish. He was an idiot and had no idea of what to do apart from keep running ahead.

When they were getting closer to the Thames Sherlock could hear footsteps coming from behind him. They seemed to be hurrying to get to him. Yes, there was no mistaking them, it was John. For a moment Sherlock was confused, momentarily forgetting about the killer getting away. Wasn't John supposed to be in the park talking to some woman? Obviously not? How did he not realise John was following him though?

As Sherlock turned he could see John running towards him.

"Sherlock? What's..."

Before John could finish his sentence Sherlock grabbed him and shoved him behind a wall.

"Shhhhhhhh!" Sherlock hissed in his face. "What are you doing? You were supposed to be in the park!"

"Oh, well sorry for not obeying Sherlock Holmes's every command! The better question is, what are you doing? One minute your in the park and then the next minute your running around London doing God knows what!"

"John! Go back to the park or the flat or somewhere just go away!" Sherlock was worried that John would somehow get stuck in the middle of this. The killer had obviously gone to a lot of effort to kill someone that had a resemblance to John. Sherlock didn't know what the killer wanted but he was obviously unstable. He was unpredictable, the anger mixed with the mourning for his father. Sherlock didn't understand emotions, they were the one thing that his massive intellect couldn't work out.

"No! I am coming with you, in whatever it is you are doing!" John folded his arms defiantly and Sherlock wondered if he was the only childish one.

They both were glaring at each other and to stubborn to back away, that during the silent fight neither of them could react quick enough when the thug jumped from behind a fence and held a gun to John's head.

"Move!" He shouted, pushing the gun into Johns head and slowly moving towards the Thames.

He had John's arms held tight behind his back and his grip was surprisingly strong.

"Now Mr 'Olmes, you are gonna follow and if you make one move, one attempt to free your pathetic pet, then he will be shot in the head."

Sherlock was scanning the situation for any way out. There was no way he could free John without the thug shooting him first. They were slowly edging to the bridge and Sherlock was panicking inside. There was no way out. There was something mentally wrong with the boy and it was obvious he was ready to shoot at one wrong move, no matter how small. For once in his life Sherlock felt dread.

"What are you doing this for? You think your father will be glad? He's dead! He can't see you! Your as pathetic as he was!"

It was obvious that Sherlock had said the wrong thing when the thug suddenly screamed and moved closer to the edge of the bridge.

"I don't care if he can't see me! You have no idea the pain i entente thorough 'cause of you! But you won't understand will ya! 'Cause your a freak! A psychopath!"

Sherlock was embarrassed and tried to convince himself that the comment didn't hurt him in any way. It was just words. They couldn't do any harm. He looked up and saw John staring intently at him. Looking straight into his eyes as if he could see everything through them.

John was terrified but the soldier in him made him strong and he appeared to be calm and collected. From the start he knew that life with Sherlock would be different. Exciting. There had been plenty of situations like this one but seeing the pain and desperation behind the detective's eyes he knew that they were stuck. The thug was mourning for the loss of his dad and blamed it all on Sherlock. He was angry and upset. He knew that Sherlock had never understood emotions so maybe it was his turn to try something.

"What's your name?" John asked, twisting round as much as he could to face the boy.

"Why you askin'?"

"I just want to know your name." John was trying carefully not to make it seem as though he was patronising the boy.

"Billy" He answered curtly.

"Ok, Billy, you don't have to do this. I'm sorry your dad was killed, but have you thought that maybe it was his own fault? I mean, he hurt people, seriously hurt them, and that really wasn't a good thing."

"Shut up! You know nothing! Nothing at all! My dad told me those people deserved it! They didn't deserve to live!" Billy shouted as he suddenly moved so he was right on the edge of the bridge above the unforgiving water below.

"John!" Sherlock shouted, panic clear in his voice as he lost his composure. "John! Stop!"

But for once John didn't listen and continued talking.

"And you believed him? Those people didn't deserve it! No one deserves to die that way."

Sherlock couldn't believe what was happening. Couldn't John see that it want going to work? The boy, Billy apparently, was insane! He was just going to get more and more angry. Sherlock now could see that Billy wanted to die. He didn't want to live and when he did he was going to take John down with him.

"They did! My dad was the best! And he killed him!" He gestured towards Sherlock with his gun.

Sherlock knew he had no choice. When Billy turned around to face John again he took his chance.

He lunged out Billy and wrestled him away from the side of the bridge. He was currently winning. He was unaware of everything around him. He could hear John shouting his name and attempting to pull him off Billy. All he could think was that he had to get this thug away from John. He saw red. He punch him over and over until he could barely move no more, but Sherlock miscalculated. As Sherlock started to stand up again, thinking Billy was weak and couldn't move, the boy lunged for his gun that had landed not far away in the midst of the fight.

Before he could react, Sherlock heard the bang of a bullet being released and he could just catch sight of Billy grabbing John by the throat, John was fighting hard but the thug smacked him over the head with the end of his gun. Then they both disappeared over the side of the bridge.

**_I know I'm evil! Ending it like that! Hehe! Please review!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**_I just want to say thank you to anyone who has been reading this! I don't know what is wrong but for some reason I can no longer reply to reviews and comments. I will try and sort it out though as soon as I can. Thank you Corianna15 for your helpful comments! Your great! Also to Lozza: Stop being so impatient! And I am obviously not going to tell you how it ends! Thanks for reading!_**

Thankfully the shot Sherlock had received was just a graze to his lower abdomen. Nothing life threatening (at the moment any way). John was more important. He had just been hit over the head, so was probably unconscious, and had fallen off a bridge into the unforgiving water below. These thoughts were running around in Sherlock's mind as he scrambled to his feet.

He knew what he had to do, he had to save John.

Without any further thoughts Sherlock leaped off the bridge and plunged into the water below. The coldness of the water made him freeze as the current dragged him down and for a moment he felt panic.

John. Danger. Save John. Now. Swim.

These thoughts brought him out of his reverie and back to reality.

He opened his eyes but it didn't make much difference in the murky water. He could already feel his lungs burning but it didn't matter. All the mattered was finding John. John who was his best friend. This is what best friends do for each other right? Save each other even if it was a risk to the other?

He span in the water desperately trying to spot John. He knew he didn't have long left until his lungs would force him to take a breath. He swam along searching, panicking, until he saw him.

He was against a large rock and his head was bleeding profusely, which wasn't a good sign. Another thing that made Sherlock extremely worried was the fact that he could see no move,net coming from John's stomach.

Forcing his aching arms and legs into action he grabbed hold of John, whilst trying to forget the burning feeling of his lungs needing air, and struggled to swim upwards. His whole body was burning. His eyes were stinging from the salt water but he had to get John out. He could just see the light of the sun as he neared the surface.

Almost there.

His limbs were no longer doing what he wanted them to do. They were kicking and scrambling uselessly in an attempt to get to the surface when finally they succeeded. Swimming to the side of the river was painful. Sherlock could barely move his body any more, from the freezing cold of the water but also from the shock of seeing John under water not breathing.

He dragged himself and John into the muddy bank of the river Thames and collapsed onto the mud gasping for air. His lungs demanding for oxygen. However John was laid next to him not breathing.

He dragged himself over to John and tried to find a pulse. His hands were shaking so much from a mix of panic and the cold so it was hard to find the right spot. There was no pulse.

There was no breathing, no heart beat. Nothing.

Pressing his lips against John's he started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, whilst alternating to CPR. He counted whilst doing it. 30 chest compressions. 2 breaths. 30 chest compressions. 2 breaths.

John was cold, to cold, and his skin held a blue tinge.

John was a soldier. He survived war. He would survive this.

Something wet rolled down Sherlock's cheek. When did he start crying? Sociopaths don't cry? John, John, John, John. It was all he could think about.

He could feel himself breaking inside, maybe he was human after all. He cradled John in his arms, rubbing his head and whispering to him.

"It's going to be alright. After all this is over you are going to come back to the flat with me and we can continue solving crimes together. You are going to live a long life. Full of excitement."

Sobbing for all it was worth Sherlock buried his head in John's chest. John was his friend. No more than just his friend. He wasn't sure what it was but they went together.

"John, you are my best friend. No you are more than that. I would be lonely without you. You have shown me how to be human. You have shown me friendship and love and what it feels like to be cared for, and how to care for others. You can't go John! You just can't! You can't die this way! It's boring! A life of excitement remember? Well this isn't exciting so just stop it! Stop this! Please! I never deserved you! You are the most kind, honest, loving and the best person I have ever met. I'm just a freak! You were showing me how to be human and slowly I was learning. I never expected to be anyone's best friend! I don't want you to leave me John! I don't want you to go!"

At this Sherlock broke. He grasped John as if his life depended on it.

He jumped when he felt Lestrade's hand on his shoulder, someone had apparently called the police then.

"Sherlock. You need to let go."

"No!" Sherlock held onto John tighter, refusing to let go when the ambulance came to take him away. No one could take his John away from him. No one.

He just sat in the middle of the mud holding onto John, sobbing. He was soaking wet and shivering but he didn't even notice anymore. He felt numb. He felt that part of him had just been ripped from him. He didn't even notice the pain of where the bullet grazed and how the bleeding had gotten worse.

"Sherlock? Sherlock please, you need to let him go." Lestrade sat in front of Sherlock and lifted his head up. The detective's face was stained with tears. His eyes were swollen, red, from crying. His hair was disheveled and his lips had started to turn blue from the cold. "Sherlock. Look at me." He slowly started to pry the detective's hands from John. "I'm sorry, ok, but John needs to go, you need to let go. Ok?"

The detective slowly loosened his grasp on John just enough so that the paramedics could take him away. They tried to lift Sherlock up so they could take him to the hospital to be examined but Sherlock didn't want them to. He clutched the hideous orange shock blanket they had given him, and curled up into a ball right there on the mud and cried himself into unconsciousness.

_**The feels! Still another chapter to come :) Please review!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_Ok so this is the final chapter! Hope you like it! This fanfic has kind of taken over my life so I don't know what to do now. Again a massive thank you to Corianna15 for all your lovely reviews and comments! Yes Lozza...I know you wanted me to do some sort of supernatural thing where John comes alive but unfortunately I didn't do that...it didn't really fit. Well, enough if me boring you. Hope you like it!_**

John Hamish Watson died at 5:17pm on the 8th January 2015.

This was also the day that William Sherlock Scott Holmes died. Not physically. He didn't stop breathing and turn blue but his heart broke.

When John Watson died, so did Sherlock Holmes.

His funeral was nothing fancy or special. Just a regular service and burial. There was a wake afterwards but Sherlock didn't go. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't go into that restaurant and pretend to be ok and mingle with people he hardly even knew. He just went home.

The flat felt empty. He couldn't look at anything and he ran into his bedroom as fast as he could. It felt cold. He felt cold. Everything felt cold and numb.

The funeral was painful. Sherlock had had silent tears running down his face all through the service but when they arrived at the cemetery he completely broke. He didn't care if people saw anymore. John could always see that he wasn't a sociopath so what's the point in hiding it any longer? As he watched the coffin, with John inside, Sherlock felt his legs begin to buckle. The thought of John so far beneath the earth. In the cold hard ground. Slowly deteriorating. He felt his legs completely give up on holding him up and he fell to the ground beside John's grave and cried, he remembered crying enough to fill a river. Mrs Hudson's hand was suddenly on his shoulder and she felt warm and comforting. However she wasn't John.

Back at the flat Sherlock curled up into his bed, not even bothering to to change clothes, and thought of John.

John laughing.

John crying.

John running with him on the cases.

John telling him to eat and sleep.

John.

His associate.

His blogger.

His friend.

His best friend.

Later that night he heard Mrs Hudson coming up the stairs, he must have been crying loudly again then, he thought.

"Sherlock?" She peaked her head round the door and saw Sherlock's tear stained face, ruffled hair and clothes as he lifted his head from under the pillow. "Oh Sherlock." She approached him with a box of tissues and started to wipe his face. Sherlock didn't complain. He was too tired to and he also knew that Mrs Hudson was obviously grieving. She had thought of John as one of 'her boys' (as well as Sherlock) and he knew she would feel the need to care for him more now that John was...well...gone.

"Sherlock. Come here" Mrs Hudson pulled him into a hug and cradled him against her. Sherlock relaxed into the hug and started sobbing again.

"I know darling." She had started crying now and was rubbing his back. "We will all miss him so so it. Let it all out."

They sat like that, huddled on the bed crying, for nearly an hour.

"Let's go into the room and I will make us both a nice cup of tea. Yeah?"

Sherlock nodded slightly.

Sitting down together on Mrs Hudson's sofa they drank hot cups of teas and mainly did nothing but cry. Mrs Hudson would frequently ask Sherlock questions about John but the young man would never say anything apart from "he was my best friend". Mrs Hudson would share stories about shopping trips with John and how kind he was but Sherlock wasn't really listening. All he could think was that he had failed John. He should have saved him.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock was staring blankly at the wall. "I...I...I should have saved him. It's my fault" he muttered.

Mrs Hudson gently held his hand, "Sherlock, listen to me. It wasn't your fault, ok? It wasn't your fault."

"But...I should have been quicker. I should have seen it coming. The moment I saw his killer in the park I should have brought him home. Kept him safe. It's all my fault."

Mrs Hudson thought that maybe Sherlock was opening up and she would be able to talk to him properly. "It wasn't your fault. John wouldn't want you to blame yourself would he?"

At this Sherlock looked up at Mrs Hudson however he didn't react as Mrs Hudson had expected. He suddenly shouted ad stood up. "He was my best friend and now he is dead because if me!" After this he ran out and upstairs to his own flat. He locked himself in and didn't emerge for 4 days.

After John's death Sherlock was never the same. Lestrade would come round with new cases for him but Sherlock was never interested. Molly would come round with body parts and chemicals for him but he would say that he was tired and would go away into his bedroom every time she came around. Mrs Hudson would come upstairs with food and cups of tea that Sherlock never ate or drank. She would try to talk to him but he would shut her out. Mycroft came round sometimes but non if the old rivalry occurred between the brothers any more. Mrs Hudson would sometimes walk in the room to find both brothers hugging.

The only time Sherlock ever showed any signs of his old self was when he played his violin. The music, however, was never cheerful or fast like it used to be. Instead it was slow and mournful. His emotions played through in the music and when he played he always had silent tears running down his face.

The flat didn't change. Sherlock didn't want anything to be moved and over time things became dusty. He would only allow things that were his to be cleaned. Nothing of John's was to be touched.

2 years past and eventually everyone apart from Mycroft began to fade away from him. They didn't go to see him as much. Even Mrs Hudson stopped going upstairs to clean. Only Mycroft stuck with him and Sherlock was actually thankful for it. He knew it was his fault that everyone had gone away but at least now they could get on with their lives without him in their way. He knew though that he could always trust in Mycroft to be there for him. The memories of his childhood came back to him as he thought of the days when he and Mycroft would play together and Mycroft would stand up for him when he got into trouble. That all disappeared when Mycroft went away to university. But Mycroft had always been there.

Clinging to Mycroft he buried his face into his chest and cried for John again. When would this mourning end?

_**Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think! **_


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